


Love By Any Other Name

by Dogsled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Humiliation, Hurt Dean, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Temporary Character Death - Winchesters, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: Castiel has been granted the gift of Creation, and with it comes both the imagination and the power to do the terrible things that he's been thinking of doing to Dean.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liliaeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/gifts).



Castiel had never wanted to become God. Not again, not after the first time, with Leviathan coursing through him, consuming him. After that, he had seen the potential threat that any replacement ruler to Heaven would make, the way that that power could corrupt, the evil that it could unleash. Amara, Lucifer--even Chuck Himself, had made it clear that Heaven was unable to be ruled. Nobody would ever be _good_ enough.

And yet when their Father had returned, He had fixed nothing, healed nothing. After all the wars, all the genocide and destruction, there were only three dozen angels left,  and Heaven and all its order was shattered. There was chaos on Earth as well, a new wave of religious uncertainty, triggered by the appearances of angels and demons, the apocalypse, and of course Castiel's former stint in the big chair. In Hell, the demons had no respect for their former King. 

Something had to be done; someone had to do it, and with the growing faith that revolved around the Man in the Trenchcoat, Castiel was the only one who had the power and the following to make it work.

And while Castiel had united the angels, had ended much of the strife on Earth, and made a kind of temporary peace with Hell - so long as Crowley was reinstated; the lesser of a great many evils - and had done everything he could to be better than the corruption that always seemed to go with the job, it simply wasn't meant to be. Dazriel had discovered a spell that would grant him the ability to Create, as their Father had, and the temptation to make more angels, to give life to something when so many of his brothers and sisters had been lost, was far too great.

Only Dean, ever present, ever insistent, had warned him not to go through with it, and this time, Castiel had obeyed his friend. He'd stepped away from Heaven, put down the sceptre with the satisfaction of a job well done, apologized to his remaining brothers and sisters--and they had cast the spell on him anyway.

Dean was still trying to save him, but Castiel no longer remembered what it was Dean was supposed to be saving. He was out of touch with himself, giddy with the pleasure of raising a hundred angels of his own design, and with every Creation he made, the blackness that twisted sinful suggestions, entwining them with his grace, became all the stronger. Magic always had a price.

His hunger was vivid by the time he discovered Dean's insurrection.

\---

Dean was livid. "You sonavabitch, Crowley. The whole spell. You said you could get everything."

"Dean--" Sam, gallantly trying to rein in his brother's temper, put an arm on his shoulder, but Dean shook it off.

"I said I'd _try_ ," Crowley sneered. "So I tried."

After all these years of dealing with Hell and its ways, Dean would have thought that he'd have been more on his toes regarding the specific wording of these deals. Getting anything out of demons had always been hard, sure - maybe not Crowley quite as much - but still, he was meant to be warier than this. At least, he might have been under any other circumstances.

The fact was that when something happened to Cas, he always sort of...lost touch with reality. Just a little. The same happened with Sam, of course, but Dean had a word for that, he _understood_ that Sam was his weakness and plotted his way around it, had done so since they were kids, and he'd made excuses to ditch girls so he could pick up his kid brother from his after school clubs. With Cas, he was still running to catch up, still trying to figure out how this weird little angel in a trenchcoat could have become so important to him, so beloved, that he would trip all over himself trying to save his feathers.

It knocked him off his game, and consequently falling foul to something like Crowley not trying hard enough, kindergarten "dealing with demons" stuff, only served to piss him off in new and exciting ways. He glowered spitefully at the demon.

"So where am I supposed to get a Heart of Gold?"

"Not exactly my problem, is it? I didn't believe in this plan of yours from the get go. Multiplying angels or not, I like this new and improved Castiel. The power trip is a real turn on, and the leather coat..."

Dean grimaced. He didn't need another reminder of the change in wardrobe. Cas had gone from Team Accountant to Team Edward in a breath, and if anything it had only served to remind Dean that as old as he'd gotten, spreading out as he matured, the angel still looked like a baby-faced college boy heartthrob, his hair tossed back in glossy spikes, skin that looked like it ought to be warm to the touch, but never was. His eyes, though--those eyes were just as old as they had ever been, timelessly unmatchable, even if Dean's own met them in levels of exhaustion and sadness.

"I told you we shouldn't work with him," Sam was saying. "When hasn't Crowley screwed us in the past?

"Excuse you, Moose. I've helped you out of so many of your prior screwups that I've genuinely lost count."

"There's something wrong with him," Dean spat, his incense rising as the two bickered. "Maybe you just can't see it because you've got your head up his ass--"

"I assure you," came a cool, collected voice from the corner of the previously unoccupied warehouse basement. "Crowley has not, nor will he ever, have his head up my ass.  No matter how much the thought seems to appeal to him."

See, Dean thought, irritably, that was exactly the kind of _something wrong_ that he'd been getting at.

He turned to face the angel. God, he corrected himself. This was no longer his angel, or his friend; this was something else, someone else. He was sure of it, even if - just as he had been when Castiel had been lying to him before - he didn't want to look it in the eye. When what remained of Heaven had cast that spell on him, they'd poisoned the well, and now there was a dark wit that lingered under all their interactions, and Castiel looked at him...well, it could just be the coat, but he thought that Cas looked at him like he might eat him alive.

"So here we are again. The three of you conspiring against me. It's getting to be tiring, Dean. Why is it that you can't just let things be?" Castiel's voice was provoking, a mocking sort of purr that had Dean's hackles up instantly.

"Because you never wanted this," Dean answered, at once. "You saw what it would do to you and you walked away. You walked away because I asked you to."

"It was weak of me."

"It was anything but weak, Cas! It was...it was the right thing to do. It meant everything to me."

Crowley coughed, and interrupted. "If this is going to turn into an episode of Smallville, does anyone mind if I leave? Some of us have a Hell to run."

Without even looking at him, Castiel threw out a hand and knocked the demon down into the nearest chair. " _Sit._ " Crowley sat, but he didn't have much of a choice.

Dean took a shallow, nervous breath, and held very still as Castiel closed the distance with him. He was afraid. His best friend _terrified_ him. Even if, when Cas stopped just in front of him, he was the same height as he ever was, Dean felt like he was being towered over imperiously. It made a lump catch in his throat.

"You were going to take this away from me," Castiel pressed.

"I was going to put things back the way they were. The way _you_ were."

"I can't have you conspiring against me, Dean."

"It's not like we could do the spell," Sam interrupted. "Crowley screwed us." Sam was uneasy, sensing the way that things were turning. He was stepping up toward Cas, from behind him, a move that Castiel clearly found threatening because a moment later Sam was scooted back safely away from the angel's personal bubble, and he wisely kept his distance thereafter.

Crowley, also wise as a wily old fox, kept his mouth shut, his suspicious beady eyes flicking between Sam and Dean and Cas.

"It's not the spell, though, is it? It's the fact that you will never stop. You'll never give in, never stop trying to save me, because that's what you do. That's all you know how to do, even if there isn't anything for you to save."

Dean's shoulders had climbed up higher toward his ears, tension and defiance more than self evident. This was only going to get worse, he could tell. Cas knew him too well.

"You're like a brother to me," he protested. "This isn't what you wanted, Cas. Please."

"Enough."

Dean fell still, expectant - terrified - and staring as Castiel stepped toward him, tension snapping as the angel lay his hand on his cheek. Dean's expression softened into desperation almost instantly.

"Please," he said again, almost in a whisper this time, and then he fell silent as Castiel's thumb brushed across his lips. His eyes hunted Castiel's face for some small hint of what he was thinking. There were no answers there, just more of that frighteningly hungry look.

"There's only really one way to stop you, Dean--to stop both of you. I wish I didn't have to do this, but you've left me with no choice."

All of a sudden, Sam started choking, grabbing for his throat. He buckled toward the floor, clawing at his skin like he was trying to tear something away from around his neck. Dean tried to move toward him, but he couldn't get his limbs to obey him, fixed in place, staring over Castiel's shoulder in panic as his brother turned blue, and crumpled the rest of the way toward the ground.

"Sam! _Sam!_ Damn it, Cas! Cas, stop it! SAM."

His brother's chest rose and fell one last time, and then, hideously, fell still. Dean was screaming so loudly that his ears were ringing--and then his voice just stopped working, and no matter how loud he tried to cry out, no more sound came.

"Haven't you realized by now how tedious your bawling is? _Cas! Sam! Mom!_ You never stop. It really loses its impact after the first time."

Dean tried to call Castiel something completely inappropriate, but he couldn't make a sound. There were tears of frustration and horror in his eyes as he stared at Cas instead, his eyes miserably flicking toward his brother's body. This couldn't be happening. Sam. _Sam._ Why was Cas doing this?

"Sam will be fine, Dean. So long as you commit to me. So long as you give me what I want. And so long as neither you, nor Sam, nor Crowley, pursue any more of these ideas to dethrone me, or remove my powers."

Dean was still too stunned to stop crying, but he turned to stare wetly at Cas instead, tears still streaking down his cheeks. The angel turned his palm over, and gripped his jaw hard enough that Dean's teeth began to ache. Give him what, Dean wanted to ask. What was Castiel threatening him for? What did he want? Why had he killed Sam? What did he mean, he'd be fine?

"Deal," said Crowley, from the other side of the room. "He'll do it, won't you, D--"

Crowley suddenly shut up. Dean guessed that Cas had something to do with that.

The angel's expression softened minutely, and then he stroked his hand down, smoothing his fingers down Dean's neck. His fingernails scraped under Dean's collar, and Dean closed his eyes, the last of his tears falling as one. He was so baffled, so confused by the conflict of feelings, the roughness and then gentleness of Castiel's touches, his brother's spontaneous death, and whatever the hell it was that Castiel wanted from him, that he didn't know what he was supposed to be feeling any more. When he opened his eyes again, he just stared up at Cas, hoping for some kind of explanation, for _something_...

"There are so many things I want to do to you, Dean. So many things I didn't know that I wanted to do. You're going to come back to Heaven with me. Sam is going to Hell, where Crowley can keep an eye on him. Don't worry, you'll both be alive. But if you disappoint me, if you don't satisfy me, or if either of you try to betray me again, I will kill him, and he will _stay_ there."

Sam suddenly gasped, and he pulled himself up onto his knees, coughing and spluttering, but alive. Dean glanced away, to check that Sam really was okay, but that turned out to be a mistake. Castiel caught his jaw once more, and turned his face roughly back toward him.

"Such as, for instance, if I'm in the room, I am the only person you will look at, the only one you will see. I will have your complete, devoted, focused attention." 

Castiel released him, and Dean didn't move this time as Cas reached up and pushed his hand back through his own hair. The angel seemed to be musing something over. A moment later, Dean could hear his own breath again.

"What's your answer?"

"Why?"

"Because, Dean, what's the point in doing so much good if you don't get a little something back for the effort? I want you, and I'm God now. So I'll have you, Dean, with or without your permission."

Dean was aghast. He opened his mouth, closed it again. _Have him?_ Cas would _have him_? What did that mean? "I have free will," he told him, weakly. "What if I say 'no'?"

"You mean other than me killing your brother?"

"Cas!"

"You don't have to say 'yes.' I can change your physiology, if I want to. I can _make_ you want me."

"You can't be serious."

That was when it hit him, a smell like ozone blistering as flame licked across it. The very scent sent sparks of heat leaping between Dean's thighs, made his legs feel weak. His knees suddenly felt weak under him, and it was all Dean could do to stay upright. He recognized the sensation, distantly, as arousal, but it was unlike any kind of arousal he'd ever felt before. 

"Cas..." Heat was climbing his neck, filling his cheeks. "What...what did you do?"

The angel's hand slipped to his cheek once more, and Dean slithered forward without even thinking about it, sank toward Castiel's touch, chased it even as Cas pulled his hand away and almost ended up with his face buried in the angel's chest.

He rocked back in surprise, staring after Cas, who in his victory had turned away to look at Crowley instead, with a wave of his hand releasing the demon.

"Deal?"

"Deal," Crowley sputtered, quickly. Dean wanted to look at him, but he couldn't. He wanted to look at Sam, but Crowley teleported behind his brother, took him by the arm, and then evaporated away again, leaving him alone with Cas.

Dean didn't want to be alone with Cas. He'd been frightening before, with this new power, but now, out of nowhere, Dean had to deal with the fresh pressure between his thighs, already fighting a losing battle against a semi, while strange warm wetness prickled over delicate skin as it trickled down his testicles. He felt _wrong_ in a thousand ways, horrified and disgusted, and yet he longed to fall against Castiel just as much, desperate to be touched again, wanting so badly just to be embraced by him.

What had Cas _done_ to him?

"You want me to fuck you, don't you, Dean?"

He was in an alternate universe again, that had to be it. Angels were screwing with time and reality, and this wasn't really happening to him. Cas hadn't just asked Dean if he wanted to fuck. No, wait, not just fuck-- _be fucked_.

It was wrong. So, so wrong.

"No, I don't."

His body was contradicting him. Cas could probably see his boner by now, even if he wasn't omniscient, with x-ray vision or whatever else Gods could have if they wanted. Dean's body thought that getting fucked sounded _wonderful_ , even if Dean himself was horrified at the idea. If Cas really loved him the way he implied, he'd never do something like this.

Castiel stepped slowly forward. "Dean, don't lie to me."

Dean's voice cracked. "I'm not," he croaked.

"Then you're lying to yourself."

Castiel's hand fell on his cheek, and again Dean submitted entirely underneath it without even a thought to the process. He just buckled, slid down Cas, and the angel caught him in his arms, lowering him down the rest of the way to his knees.

"What did you do to me?" Dean asked, when his tongue worked again.

"I gave you omega attributes, Dean. The only thing an omega wants, the only thing an omega ever craves, is to pleasure and be pleasured by their alpha. To be enslaved to their scent, their presence, their touch."

" _Enslaved?_ " The whole thing frightened Dean, but that word, more than any of the others, picked out his discontent. It wasn't his love that Castiel wanted--he wanted a sex slave, and apparently only Dean would do.

"I'll ask you again," Castiel said, ignoring the terrified warble in his voice, pressing their bodies harder together. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Humiliated, Dean answered without so much as a pause, his voice little more than a breath. "Yes."

"I can't hear you."

"Yes," Dean snapped, harder this time, the tears were back, his erection an embarrassment, pressed hard against the angel's thigh. There was nowhere to hide. "Yes, that's what I want. Jesus, Cas, why did you have to make me say it?"

Cas was remorseless. "Say it again."

"I want you to fuck me."

The soft edge of Castiel's hand was back in place, carding gently through his hair once more, and Dean leaned helplessly into the touch, even if his body would much rather have that hand elsewhere. He wanted Cas all over him, wanted him to scratch the itch inside, wanted to put his hands and his mouth on Cas' cock and milk his pleasure right out of him.

He wanted a cold shower, and to get away from whatever it was the angel had turned him into--and whatever it was Castiel was, now. It was hard to imagine, even remotely, that this was still his friend.

Cas leaned down, closed the distance between them, and kissed Dean's well bitten lips. His hot cheeks scratched damp against the angel's stubble, and Dean moaned helplessly at the friction, the burn, and then the wet thrust of Castiel's tongue as it plundered his mouth. The repetitive pounding gave no quarter, and Dean had the feeling that his mouth was being fucked just to make a point, the slick muscle forcing his own to surrender, until Dean could hardly breathe, choking on saliva at the back of his throat. 

And yet he loved it, he moaned, and whined helplessly as Castiel tore away, sinking his nails into Cas' shoulders so that he didn't slide any further down him as the angel rained sucking kisses down his throat, some of them more painful than others. Dean didn't care; he was in a haze of need by the time Castiel stopped, no more complaints leaping to mind except for the thinnest protest as the angel pulled away from him.

"Strip."

He didn't need to be told twice to get out of his clothes. He shed them in a hurry at the command, and crawled on his knees to Castiel's feet a moment later. His skin was a furnace, his lips bruised from the kiss, dark hickies stinging in the cool air, but Dean didn't register any of it, not even the gritty warehouse floor against his knees. He put his hands on Castiel's calves, and climbed his body with his face, burying his nose in Cas' crotch and breathing in so much of the heady, intoxicating scent of him that his head swam.

"That's good," Cas was saying. "Blow me, Dean."

He'd gotten the point already. Not that there was much stopping him. All Dean wanted was to get closer to that scent, and he couldn't clear his mind enough even to think how wrong this was, how not into guys he was, how broken Cas had to be to do this to him. He just wanted closer to the smell, wanted to suck it all back onto his tongue and swallow it down into his belly, wanted to be filled with Cas in every possible way. 

The craving was practically an aphrodisiac, and Dean had swallowed four inches of Cas back before he even realized that he'd never done this before, and even that thought evaporated quickly enough, with the taste of Cas' precome mixing with his saliva, a hot slither of it already lubricating the back of his throat. Dean didn't hesitate a moment longer, took Cas deeper, until the full length of him was choking him, ignoring his own discomfort to moan in satisfaction as Cas' hands wound around the back of his head. He drew back before blackness took him, breathing harshly through his nose as he bobbed up and down, his eyes open and upturned, peeking through the flaps of Castiel's shirt to try and meet the angel's eyes, desperate for his approval.

Cas barely moved. His breathing picked up, and he bit down on his lip, rocking his hips ever so shallowly, but Castiel didn't moan, didn't groan, didn't plead for Dean to go faster. He kneaded at the back of his neck, and Dean kept sucking, kept bobbing in eagerness,in earnest, trying his best to draw even the slightest hint of pleasure out of his angel.

But Cas only looked at him once, right as he came, and Dean gulped down every offered ounce of come, and cleaned Cas off, his head still spinning from the entire experience. It was almost a minute later, when Cas started to button up his own slacks, that the heavy weight of Cas' seed in his belly didn't seem so comforting any more, that Dean's own blind arousal ebbed just enough that he could see where he was, and categorize everything that he'd just done.

He felt sick, shivering, cold and naked, his own arousal flagging untouched. Above him, Cas looked just as pristine as ever.

"Cas?"

"Shh," was the only answer he got, at least until Dean, shame faced and self conscious, went to reach for his shirt. An electric zap snapped through his fingers and up his arm, painful enough that it made his arm go numb. As Dean clutched his hand back toward his chest, he looked back up at Cas, hurt in his eyes.

"No," Cas said. "From now on, you only get to wear what I tell you."

"I'm cold," Dean snapped. He hurt. He was humiliated and repulsed, his mouth tasted like come, and Castiel... Cas was cold, and distant. No part of this was okay.

"Here. You can wear this."

Dean almost flinched away from the hand that reached toward him, but just the smallest touch, it turned out, sent fresh warmth down into his belly, even if it came with the sensation of steely chill to his throat. When Cas removed his hand, Dean reached up to test the new weight at his throat. It was a collar, with five large rings hanging from it. The warmth seemed to remain, but Dean shivered anyway.

He was more than just offended. "You can't be serious."

Castiel just stared down at him. A moment later, Dean tried to stand, deciding that enough was enough, only to discover the angel's hand firm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

"Cas, please... Stop this, turn me back. I don't want this."

"You should have thought about that before you turned against me, Dean. From now on, you're going to be exactly where I put you, waiting for me. No more plotting, no more hunting, no more of you and your brother making everything worse because you can't stand for things to change in anything but your favor."

"Things were fine the way they were, Cas."

"You mean with me being your attack dog? At your beck and call? Is that how someone treats their _brother_? There was never any question of where I was, when I wasn't at your service. There was never any suggestion that you might help me, rather than the other way around. You left me with _Crowley._ "

"You don't understand, Cas. We're not exactly a conventional family."

"I understand what it means not to belong to a conventional family."

Dean fell silent, just for a moment, then took up a pleading tone. "And that's enough to...to reduce me to this? To use me for sex? That's not how someone treats their brother, either, Cas."

"I never wanted to be your brother, Dean. I wanted your love, your affection, and you only ever pushed me away. The closer you let me get, the further you sent me from your side. You were ashamed of me."

"I wasn't... It wasn't like that."

"Of course it was. You can't stand sentimentality. You can't stand the possibility that someone might make you feel, might expose you, and make it impossible for you to hide from it any more."

Dean shook his head, desperately. "I'm not afraid of feeling things for you, Cas. I told you how I felt. I needed you."

"You should have loved me."

"I do love you."

They were honest words, but it was too late for that now. Dean could tell by the vicious smile that slid across Castiel's face. His brow furrowed, desperately sad. When he'd told Cas that he needed him, it had meant far more than that. It had _meant_ that he loved him; he thought Cas had understood that. Maybe he did--maybe he'd just forgotten.

"Cas..."

"Enough, Dean. It's too late. Now you can show me how much you love me in other ways. Again, and again."

"Cas," Dean tried again, but this time the angel ignored him, reached out and touched his shoulder again. A moment later, they were alone in vacant, empty whiteness. Dean recognized Heaven at once. He pulled back away from Cas, putting distance between himself and his once friend.

"I know. It's lacking in any personality, isn't it?"

That wasn't the problem Dean had with it. At all. But as he span around, five chains seemed to come from nowhere out of the distant whiteness, lunging across the emptiness. Dean span around in place, but it didn't help. The chains snapped down on his collar, and pulled tight in five directions at once, rendering him completely immobile. 

Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel curled his hand around one of the chains and gave it a little tug. It made Dean stumble in his direction, and silenced him just in time.

"If I hear you say _Cas_ like that even one more time tonight, I'm going to shake you until you're dead."

Dean held his breath, instead. His heart hurt.

"That's better. Now then..." Cas withdrew his hand, and began rubbing at his jaw, considering the entirety of the view in front of him. "How shall I fuck you?"

Dean didn't have an answer that didn't start with "Cas, please," so he kept his mouth shut. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, and that included selling his soul, torturing people, and sending Lisa and Ben away. He moved under the collar, making sure he could keep Cas in view.

"There's plenty of time to try every different angle, every single position. It's exciting. I never realized before how little imagination I had. Now that I have it, endless creation at my fingertips, there are so many options..."

Cas lifted his hand, and more chains emerged, sweeping like snakes around Dean's ankles, wrapping so tightly around his limbs that the metal bit viciously into his skin. Dean hissed in pain, and Cas seemed to take pity. The chains turned into slick black ribbons, all of them pulling taut, pulling Dean's feet far apart, so that it was impossible that he was still upright despite it. Dean flailed with his arms, and more ribbons caught his wrists, pulling them up and away from his body, leaving him trembling, spread-eagled and exposed.

To his horror, his erection immediately showed brand new interest in the situation. It twitched under Castiel's attention, as the angel scraped his gaze down the length of his body.

"You see? You want me."

Dean whimpered as Cas stepped forward. Dean was afraid--but at the same time that strange need was breathing life into his lungs again; his skin, his muscles. Everything made him long for Castiel's touch all over again, so that when Cas did brush against him, finally, he keened desperately. Dean's hands curled into tight fists, but his hips rocked forward, desperate for Cas to run his hands all over him.

And then Cas' hand climbed up his right thigh, and curled around his cock.

"C-Cas..."

Dean had forgotten all about the forbidden word. But it turned out not to be so bad. Cas stepped in closer and pressed his nose into Dean's throat, exhaling against his skin. He squeezed Dean's cock, pulling firmly up toward the tip.

"I could get used to you saying it like that."

Dean shivered, and his hips snapped earnestly up toward the other man's touch. It was all he could do, but his body was earnest, desperate to get its point across. He needed Castiel. It made him sick to his stomach just how much, not because he didn't feel anything for the angel, but because - he was quickly realizing - he _did._

This? This bastardization of sentiment? This abuse? Dean could barely stand it. It made him feel guilty, ashamed. Would things be the way they were now if he'd just pulled Cas toward him sooner? If he'd fucked him, instead of taking him to see strippers? Would Cas have abandoned him, when they were trying to leave Purgatory, if they'd shared each other's bodies in the endless forest? Would he have fled with the angel tablet, rather than trust Dean? Or allowed Lucifer to seize his vessel? Everything could have been different. He wouldn't be changed, chained, hanging here with Castiel pressing sinister against his naked body, sickening wetness clinging to his thighs.

Or maybe he would be. Maybe he would be, but he'd have consented to it. Dean just couldn't shake the feeling that this was all his fault. As usual.

His thoughts evaporated, groaning helplessly as Castiel's hand slipped away. Both hands were around him now, scoping fingers curling smoothly around his buttocks, spreading them wider. Dean whimpered, and bowed his head toward Castiel's shoulder, helpless to the sensation as Cas prised him open, pushing fingertips inside. His body opened easily in invitation, and Dean felt the tremor of need sweep all the way down his legs. His stomach seemed to coil like a hot snake twisting up on itself, tighter and tighter, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut against all of it, overwhelmed entirely.

He couldn't even form his mouth around a word. When he opened it to try, his teeth shivered and snapped closed against each other again, and he growled out another moan through them, unable to help himself, but trying to none the less.

"You want me inside you, don't you, Dean?"

Dean shuddered, lowering his eyes just a little. He wanted, but he could hardly breathe, and when Castiel bumped his shoulder more into his chest, using the new angle to thrust two fingers into him down to the knuckle, any hope of forming words withered and died in his throat.

"Tell me."

"Unh." Dean couldn't lift his tongue, or prize his teeth apart. He wanted more, of course he did, but how was he supposed to tell Cas that?

"Say it," Cas pressed, and he drew his fingers back and thrust them in again, hard and wet.

Dean sobbed, and his jaw unlocked as he rocked his hips backward. "Phmee..."

"I can't hear you."

"Fuck me. Fuck me. Castiel. Please."

"I can always tell when you really need me, Dean. I can tell when you're thinking of power and not convenience. That's when you call me "Castiel"."

"Shut up and fuck me," Dean spat, agitated by his own desire. It wasn't fair. Begging for it... It felt like throwing away the last vestiges of his own self, his own control, though to be fair he had lost all of that long ago.

When he'd lost Cas.

Castiel's hand slipped back out of him, and Dean trembled with fresh anticipation, oblivious to almost everything but his misery and his need. Everything had crystallized the way it always did during sex, into blank checks of emotions. All the complications of life, and everything that had led up to this, was written off as sadness, and all the desire that he felt was lust. There was shame, too, but even that was being pushed steadily aside by the thrust of need; stripped naked, tied up, enslaved to someone who had once been his friend? Oh, the shame was real, but it was corrupted, thrust askew, by the simplicity of Dean's hunger, this--this omega's need.

Dean had always joked about people who were addicted to sex, but now that he was the one who was helpless in the face of it, transformed by the twisted imaginations of something that had once been so innocent; so kind, so clean, so angelic... It hurt.

He just wanted his friend back. His friend would make this stop.

Castiel peeled himself away from his chest, looking him up and down. Blunt, wet fingernails scraped across his buttocks, then came around to draw snail trails down his chest. Castiel pinches his nipples, and then the tip of his cock, and made a soft appreciative noise as a bead of precome oozed free, followed quickly by another. Fortunately he let go again before Dean bit through his lip, or his brain exploded, the tension practically painful.

Dean was about to start begging again when Cas finally made the move to circle around him. Relief and trepidation took turns waging war against the inside of his ribs, especially when Castiel finally brushed exposed skin against his own, sending fire through every vein, every capillary.

He realized then that he was begging anyway, a soft stream of desperate vowel sounds that might be words. Castiel's cockhead nudged against him, and Dean felt muscles contract and pulse. His thighs tensed, and as they released he felt fresh heat trickling around the tip of Cas' erection. It would have horrified Dean even more had there been any part of him still capable of rational thought, but all that mattered any more was that Castiel fill him up and fuck him raw.

The once-angel completed the act in a single thrust, drove so deep that Dean thought for a second that it had lifted his feet clean off the floor. He tensed against his ribbons, threw back his head against the collar, and wailed - though with satisfaction or pain he didn't know which - and Cas sat inside him, clutching his hips with both hands, and waited for him to still, to sink against him once more, for his head to clear just enough that the threatening words he spoke had some kind of impact.

"I'm going to use every sex toy of human invention on you, Dean, and when I run out of them, I'm going to create a few of my own. I can't get enough of the way you look like this. Helpless, aroused, under someone else's control. I want to undo you, because I know that you feel things stronger than anyone. Because I know that you've broken once before, and it's time that you broke for me. I'm your God now, Dean. I'm going to be your entire world, your Heaven and your Hell, like nothing that you've ever experienced before, and you will love me. You'll forget that there was ever a time when you didn't."

Full of Castiel's cock, aching with need, pain burrowed deep inside of his chest and his belly and his ass, Dean didn't know how to fathom the misery the words brought him. He didn't know if they added to the tears streaming down his cheeks or not. He didn't know if there was any salvation. For one bitter moment the words cut their mark deep into bones and flesh and soul, and then they were forgotten as Cas began to move, began to work a wicked pace into him, scouring his virgin hole with unbearable friction.

Dean quickly gave up trying to hold himself up. His knees buckled, and he hung between Cas' grip and the ribbons on his wrists, the collar pulling up so hard on his neck that Dean could feel the air being choked out of him. His lungs screamed for oxygen, but he couldn't get his feet back under him, and Cas was unrelenting.

A moment before blackness engulfed him completely, the chains came away. Dean fell down on his knees, with Cas crashing down behind him, and two more thrusts, while Dean gulped in lungfuls of air, ended in the most earth-shattering orgasm that he had ever had.

Castiel, readjusting behind him, started a fresh assault, faster than he had before, with shallower thrusts satisfying his own needs for friction. Dean wasn't completely satisfied until the angel spilled inside him, and then he begged him to stay with ragged whimpers, his throat so savaged and raw that the words were gravel under his tongue.

Despite his pleading, Cas pulled away. Dean could feel more liquid sliding thick and sticky down the inside of his thighs, and it was as his hips were released that he finally slumped the rest of the way forward, his body and mind in disarray.

Five minutes later, abandoned in white silence, left alone with his thoughts and his mess, everything that had happened finally caught up with him. Dean curled up in a tight ball, unable to shake the shame and humiliation that being left naked and used made him feel. There wasn't even a scrap of fabric in sight for Dean to try and clean himself off with, and moreover, he knew that Cas would be back--that _Castiel_ , or what was left of him, would be back, and that it would only be for more of the same.

And what of Sam? At least he could be vaguely sure that neither Crowley nor Cas was fucking his brother up the ass, but that hardly changed the fact that his brother was trapped in Hell. The real Cas would have never have inflicted that kind of misery on him, never put him through it again.

Sam. Next time Cas came, maybe he could negotiate. Maybe if he willingly gave a little more, he could get Sam out of Hell, at least. He'd even endure Sam losing his memory of him if it meant his little brother got to live; Castiel had to know that. And Dean, of course, would do anything to ensure that he was happy; _anything_ \--even pretend to love the monster that had taken his friend.

But that was what it would always be, he swore to himself. A pretense. He could never love anyone more than the love that had never been his to lose in the first place. Cas. His friend, his healer, his attack dog, his angel; that misguided love by any other name.

**Author's Note:**

> This santa challenge was right up my street, and I really hope that the recipient enjoys reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also many thanks to my lovely beta reader Zosia. As always, thank you so much.


End file.
